June 14, 2012: St. Peter Port to Petit Bot
My sister-in-law, Naomi, in front of the loopholed tower at Fermain Bay
On Friday, June 13, I found myself aboard an Aurigny Airlines plane – to Guernsey. I had begun a number of walks with a flight prior to this occasion (to Spain, France, Ireland and Scotland, for instance) but I had never been to any of the Channel Islands before this. Another unique aspect of the venture was that I was walking with two entirely new walking partners, my sister-in-law Naomi and my brother-in-law Adrian. This pair (with whom I had recently spent time in Paris, Chartres and London) were not just new to my list of companions (numbers 201 and 202) but new to the whole walking enterprise. They had become interested in this form of exercise through their reading of my AWalker’s Alphabet and, after Adrian had expressed an interest in the Channel Islands, we had settled on a coastal route around Guernsey – some forty miles to be undertaken in four day of walking. For months I had been advising them on what to wear and what to pack and they had been taking practice walks in suburban Philadelphia. Still, with such unknown and inexperienced walkers, I was naturally anxious about the outcome.
We had only a short walk from the Gatwick Express to the Aurigny desk – where there was no one in the queue at all and we had plenty of time to complete all of our formalities. The flight was uneventful (we were only airborne for forty minutes or so) and after reclaiming our bags we were met by the first of innumerable representatives of the Island Taxi Company – the firm used by our trip organizers, Let’s Go Walking! In twenty minutes or so we were checking into our hotel, The Pandora, on Hauteville, and heading downhill to find some lunch in Guernsey’s principal metropolis, St. Peter Port. The latter is dramatically situated on hills perched above the harbor – with the island of Herm in the foreground and Sark off in the distance.
After nosing around a bit in the maze of back streets we settled on the Dix–Neuf bistro and experienced our first taste of Guernsey service – which was both cheerful and slow. This proved to be very frustrating for the hyperactive Adrian; after our sandwiches had been consumed he went off to do some banking and Naomi and I visited a Boots for some batteries, treats and drinks. Then we had a look at the area where our walk would begin the next day and climbed steeply uphill (for the first but not the last time) passing Victor Hugo’s house before reaching our hotel.
I had a nice nap and at 5:00 I joined the others and our London friends the Taggarts for a drink in the hotel lounge. Linda and Rob were here to cheer on a friend who would, on Sunday, carry the Olympic torch is Guernsey’s version of this ceremony. Later the three of us headed down the hill again – but fortunately we had to get only as far as the Cornerstone Café – where we were soon seated for our evening meal. Adrian was always eager to try out any of the local specialties so he began with a Guernsey bean stew. Still recovering from a bout of tummy trouble (I blame Paris) I ate only a lasagna. There was still light in the skies as we returned to our hotel, our minds very much on the challenges that faced us on the morrow. I was not particularly encouraged by the sound of rain pounding the roof above me throughout much of the night.
We decided to meet for breakfast when the downstairs dining room opened its doors for the horde of breakfasters at 8:00. I continued to practice my usual spartan regime at such moments, not because my tummy was still dickey but because, now and forever, too much incoming at one end always had the effect of requiring too many occasions for elimination at the other. And this was particularly a problem on this trip, when my recent indisposition had contributed to the reappearance of that old enemy (and one which loyal readers will now recall) – hemorrhoids. So I sipped my orange juice and ate my scrambled eggs on toast and went upstairs to apply my unguents – which soon had a tendency to besmirch my walking trousers. Against this eventuality I decided to wear my rain pants throughout our venture – even though skies were bright enough. I was asked about this costume as we lined up for our departure at 9:00 on Saturday, July 14 – and my response to Naomi and Adrian began, “Ah, thereby hangs a tail.”
From our scouting missions the previous day I knew that if we headed uphill for a short distance we would find a steeply descending lane, Havelet, to the harbor. This we now took and soon we had reached the spot where our guidebook instructions could be followed for the first time. Now, however, I suppose it is fair to note that the Guernsey Coastal Walk does not exist!
Someday, perhaps it will – then we will have a continuous footpath, waymarked throughout, one which the walker can follow in orderly stages as he makes his way around this essentially triangular-shaped island. What we had in 2012 was a series of instructions on how to accomplish this task in Paddy Dillon’s Cicerone Guide, Walking on Guernsey – even though Dillon’s task is primarily to offer a series of unrelated circular walks, some of which include coastal portions. A typical instruction: “To continue walking round the coast of Guernsey, refer to Walk 3,” but it was often not clear, when you did this, where in the new text you were now. Adrian had a copy of this book and I had one in my map case and we each had some good Guernsey maps, ones that indicated footpaths with little red dashes and, of course, these had all of the nearby roads as well. Having said all this I have to admit that it was often difficult to tell exactly where we were or how far we had come on this day: our trip organizers placed today’s stage at nine miles (I would say ten) and we knew that there would be a lot of strenuous up and down before our taxi rendezvous at 5:00.
I took the first of a number of pictures (this one of Castle Cornet, in the harbor) – storing my camera in my t-shirt pocket since I can never reach my pants pockets when I am wearing my rain pants. There are a number of tourist sites just south of St. Peter Port and therefore there were quite a few people about as we sought a path above a minor road – which kept us away from the traffic for a while. Then we walked on the roadway, passing the entrance to the La Vallette Underground Military Museum and coming to a tunnel which houses the Guernsey Aquarium. Here we faced our first steep climb of the day, on steps, up to the Clarence Battery and its guns. But hereafter the tourists gave way to locals, out with their dogs, and in short order we had turned our back on civilization.
I must say this was a very beautiful place to be. The sun was shining brightly, illuminating the rocky shores and cliff faces of Soldiers Bay. We often walked in woodland – and wildflowers (including our old friends, the fuchsias) were abundant. There was a brief suburban section at La Corniche, when we walked on tarmac again, and then we re-entered woodland, climbing once more. There were occasional stone plinths indicating the way forward, but these were usually placed on the ground where they were muddied, overgrown and ambiguous – with careful attention required since the site from which you had just come was indicated with a reverse arrow.
We were following arrows pointing to Fermain Bay now and this also meant ignoring a variety of other routes and paths and needless descents to the sea, such as one at the Ozanne Steps. We disdained any refreshment at Fermain Bay itself – where we encountered the first of the island’s fifteen loopholed towers (here called the Pepper Pot). Climbing uphill we now looked for signs pointing in the direction of St. Martin’s Point. My new walking companions were doing quite well, I was happy to note, with Adrian often far ahead as I accompanied Naomi, tapping along happily with the assistance of my walking stick.
As we climbed above Marble Bay, however, we were led astray by an arrow pointing toward Divette. This required a very steep descent on stones and all of the recent rain meant that these were wet with running water. First Adrian lost his footing on this surface and crashed down on his bum, then Naomi did so as well. I had a little better luck with my stick but it was necessary to hang on to the fence wires and overhanding branches in order to make any progress and eventually I decided to call a halt to this farce. I reasoned there must be a better way at a higher elevation so we reversed directions and climbed back to our last turnoff.
The way forward allowed me to offer labels to many of the plant species unknown to my city relatives: gorse, bracken, nettles. Footing was better up here as well – though Naomi (whose legs were even shorter than her sister Dorothy’s) had a lot of problems with some of the more lofty steps. Eventually we cleared the last of the woods and entered more open pathways as we approached St. Martin’s Point. We had walked only three miles or so and it was already past noon and this tardy pace contributed to a well-considered decision – we would take a bit of a shortcut (eliminating a circuit of Jerbourg Point) by rising to a roadhead – where we found a parking lot, a hotel and a windy picnic table opposite a kiosk. Here we ordered some sandwiches – I had a cheeseburger.
My brother-in-law, Adrian, surveys the route above Moulin Huet Bay.
Imperceptibly we had somehow changed our line of direction – having completed a section of Guernsey’s east coast and begun another along its southern margin. We now took to the road in a northerly direction, soon reaching an obelisk in honor of a former governor, the Doyle Monument, and beginning to search out the continuation of our route on the western side of the Jerbourg Peninsula. Adrian was a very good scout at such moments and he had soon located our path – which began its usual rise and fall in open country above Moulin Huet Bay.
We dropped down into a wooded valley again, passing a water trough, Courtes Fallaizes Abreveur. (Guernsey, it would appear, had a kind of tripartite identity. Its historical monuments all bore the imprint of the German occupation, its place names were mostly French, and the locals all spoke an unaccented English.) As we reached the head of Saints Bay, and chastened by the prospect of another steep climb, we decided on another shortcut. We took the road at valley bottom and, passing a pottery, headed north into suburbia. Then we followed mostly level roads as they headed seaward atop the Icart Peninsula.
I found this to be a very interesting variation. There wasn’t much traffic, the tax exiles had erected a number of posh residences, and we had our first experience with “hedge veg” – a roadside honor system in which local produce was perched atop someone’s fence in order to tempt passersby into a purchase or two. It was very lovely up here and we made good progress, also passing some grand hotels.
Petit Bot Bay
Eventually we regained the coast path, marveling at the steepness of a trail down to La Jaonnet Bay – which could be reached only with the assistance of ladders. Fortunately we were able to keep to our higher elevation, though there were plenty of ups and downs. At last we reached another roadway and, turning left, dropped down to the sea ourselves at Petit Bot. It was 4:00 and, almost an hour ahead of schedule, we had reached the end of the day’s walk.
I sat at a table in front of the ubiquitous kiosk and ate an ice cream cone while Adrian explored Petit Bot’s loopholed tower. At exactly 5:00 our Island Taxi arrived and we were soon speeding back to the Pandora Hotel. Here I had a bit of a nap, lying on my back, and then we met again for drinks in the lobby.
Adrian had down some scouting in nearby Trinity Square and we headed here at 7:00 or so in search of a place to eat. The La Piazza Italian restaurant was buzzing but we were told that if we would take an outside table one inside would be prepared for us – and this we did. Once again there was an interminable wait. Our dinner orders were taken and after half an hour we were moved to a makeshift setting near the bar but between each course twenty minutes or so had to be endured. We were tired and cross and it was dark by the time we were able to escape. The food had been quite tasty but I had to leave some of mine.
In my top floor room I listened to music on my iPod and read some of the articles I had clipped from The New Yorker and The New York Review of Books. I could be well satisfied that, in spite of a sore bottom, today’s walk had been a great success.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: